With Faith on the Eighth.
Geneva, November 8, 2025
A Call to Rest.
It usually starts with a gentle ache somewhere in my body. I notice it and may mumble a word or two to my folks about needing a massage. I book one but it doesn’t quite cut it.
Then I feel it in my soul. I am antsy and irritable. Everything takes at least twice as long. That article that I can normally whip out in a matter of hours stretches. I spend time pottering in the garden- weeding, digging, snipping, clearing, raking, as if making space for something. This now familiar ritual, it turns out, is my preparation for a new thing, a new season, new growth. It becomes clear that it’s time and I answer the call. Bags packed, I sneak off in search of silence, solitude and simplicity.
Unspoilt.
This has been my pattern since the Coronavirus pandemic but in hindsight, I have evidence of it from when I was little growing up in my large family in our huge compound. It was a jolly hive of activity teeming with multigenerational energy. As one of the youngest I sometimes felt like a clockwork toy, buzzing along, trying to keep up with adult rhythms and routines. To escape the “noise”, I deviced a simple technique of finding hiding spots to spend time with myself, usually with a book in tow. Hours later, I would emerge, refreshed, rested, and ready to mingle.
That need for time alone is really a call to rest my body, mind and spirit. That’s why massages don’t cut it. The ache is not only physical and muscular. My mind also needs rest and I have taken it in many forms: Long solitary walks; Hours spent in a library, bookstore or the book section of a Brocante; Sitting on the bench under the apple tree, steaming cup of tea in hand, watching the sun rise. And solitary travel, preferably by train discharged of any responsibility but to find my seat and store my luggage.
My favourite escape is to a Monastery that provides guest house services for people who want to “retreat”. It’s such a packed word, retreat. In all its meanings what most holds true for me is the sense of withdrawal to safety it evokes. The seeds of the idea of a monasterial retreat were sown many years ago but I was always a little worried about comfort. I know. I can't help it. Will I be cold and hungry? Will the beds be comfortable? Will it be too heavily religious as to intimidate? I researched it a little, found no joy and set it aside. Then of course, as often happens, when my soul really demands something it is called forth in the right time.
The pandemic called us to isolate. And we did. It’s been five years and the memories of it may fade for some but not me. I remember well what we lived through: the not knowing; the dawning; the hustling for information and materials; dealing with separation especially as an immigrant far from family and friends; the unspeakable and unbelievable scale of deaths; the surrender to science and governments; and the need for community solidarity. The sheer weight of it all in the 2nd cycle called for a reset and once it felt ok, I dusted up my research. The very first place that popped up was my place of refuge, less than two hours away by train. I like to say the Abbaye de la Maigrauge found me. It was love at first stay.
Abbaye de la Maigrauge, Fribourg. A13th century Cistercian Monastery. An oasis of calm.
The Abbaye is so perfectly suited to my needs. It is vast and sprawling in size but so human that it feels small.
A familiar walk to a familiar place. This road by now must recognise my steps and the roll of my red wheeler.
The nuns are only visible at Chapel times when their voices carry in song and prayer like rays of light. The beautiful light that streams in through the stained glass windows of the Chapel always manages to find me or maybe I engineer it to be seated where it will. It’s a curious thought I must explore next time I am there. I try to go twice a year for 3 or 4 days at a time- in the Autumn, after the ritual of clearing for the sowing and in the Spring, for the sprouting. My body has set its own rhythm for restoration. And yes, it is warm, cosy and comfortable. You can be religious, or not. No one is watching nor judging you. You can spend all your time there or come and go as you please. Just be back before 10pm when the gates are locked. Your only responsibility is to respect the quiet and sanctity of the space, help set up, clear up and do the dishes after meals. My fear of hunger? Ha ha! Food is abundant, delicious and nutritious. Freshly prepared, sometimes with vegetables from their garden, it is lovingly served by one of the Nuns responsible for guest services. It always feels like a homecoming when she welcomes me warmly with “Salut Faith, quel plaisir de te revoir!”. “Pour moi aussi, ma Soeur!” I reply.
I sometimes have a single en suite room. With this room, I used the communal bathrooms. It’s so clean, you could eat off the floor.
It’s a busy world and things need doing, people need seeing and life needs living. In the busyness of it all, I have learnt that yielding to this call for rest enables me to manage the push and pull between my internal forces and the demands of external forces. 
A calming sight for sore eyes. I took this photo on a solo walk in the mountains some years ago.
I have found the restorative power of silence, solitude and the simplicity of monastic life central to balancing this battle between both forces. This gentle and intentional time away helps to reinforce my internal forces to withstand the pressure exacted by the external forces. It helps me to say “No”, sometimes even to myself, when distracted and stretched thin in many of my actions, my energy -my own power- is scattered and unavailable to me. Here, I paraphrase the words of Sharon Salzberg, the author of that beautiful book, LovingKindness, The revolutionary Art of Happiness. In this “ scattering of an immensity of energy into all these distractions, we sabotage our chances for equanimity and peace, and truly lay waste our powers”. Retreating helps me to rest my body and soul and let my internal wisdom speak. It helps me to focus and ask: Where am I wasting my energies? How can I gather it back? What load am I carrying that others no longer see? Retreating helps me to shed the load and say “Stop” before the center can no longer hold and things fall apart. Retreating holds me up and gives me access to my insights. 
Nature’s dance. I found it irresistible so stopped to stare for a while.
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep and cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
William Henry Davies (1911
I studied this poem at age thirteen and still remember my cherished English language teacher, Mrs. Green, sitting in front of class, elegant and graceful, her ebony skin radiant as she listened to us take turns reading the couplets aloud. It sprang to mind out of nowhere on one of my retreats two years ago and is as relevant today as when it was written. What is this life indeed, if, full of care we have no time to stand and stare?
The Insightful Sun.
Retreating is now such a part of my life that my loved ones expect, support and encourage it. They understand that my absence in search of solitude and silence is not a rejection of their presence but a gift that serves us all. Isn’t that beautiful?
And now to you. Are you taking time for you? Are you getting the rest you need? For your body, mind and spirit? Try it. You may just get hooked.
With love,
Faith